Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?
Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace
More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry
Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage
Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience
Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing
In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby
She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II
Annie received little compensation
This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty
To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home
With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse
Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty

As the waves forever kiss the shore
One shot leaves you wanting more
My heart and soul, strong and true
With all the love they hold for you
Sometimes my life leaves me bored
Like a swordsman with no sword
These are the times that I write
Memories can be hard to fight
I write out my heart and soul
Controlling my mind is my goal
Each new word released by my pen
Is another spiritual battle I win
The war rages on day by day
Through the poem prayers I pray
It's a war that I will forever win
Long as there is ink up in my pen
In prison I had quite a collection
Each one held it's own reflection
I saved them after they ran dry
Baptized with the tears I cry
I just couldn't seem to let them go
Little memories of my heart and soul
Sometimes I like to take them out
Little memories of what I'm about
What I'm about angel on my shoulder
Making this world a little less colder

This enlisted soul
At eighteen years old
Barely a man
Not even street wise told
From the proms, to the camp
He kits out tomorrow
His future he stamps
Never knowing bloodied sorrow
In just under a year
He's older and wiser
To a theatre so different
Says his military adviser
Overseas he heads
Thoughts of back home
What goes through his mind
In eighteen years old roam
Where could he have been
In so short a time
Colouring books
Making joining words rhyme
As he looks to his background
What does he see
An eagle soaring
In the land of the free
The statue of liberty
And the bill of rights
With the thirteen stripes
And the stars to delight
He is just a boy
In grown up clothes
Another one lost
To a cause we will loathe
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-4.php

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
To where the ridges merry make
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found

Don’t judge that kid with her arms all scarred
Don’t brand that kid as bad
You never would have survived
If you had the life she had
So say a prayer and show you care
She’s paid more than her share of dues
Don’t put her down or say bad things
Until you’ve walked that mile in her shoes
Those who suffered in war earn respect
They are greeted like super stars
She came from a war you wouldn’t understand
On her arms, the battle scars
Her own home was the battle zone
The desperation, feeling all alone
A situation she felt no escape from
Then late at night the urges come
Innocence lost like a bad dream
No self respect, no self esteem
It is an ongoing battle to feel whole
You can see the beauty within her soul
Sometimes I pray for a Judgement day
You have no heart if you look away
Flashbacks come and the anger stirs
The guilt she carries isn’t hers
There is a need for justice long past due
A need for acceptance from me and you
With anger, despair and fear demanding
The child needs some understanding
In spite of all the tears she cried
There are still battle scars deep inside

Sleepless eyes stare absently through the battleground.
Clean and neat clothes in fatigued bodies
Momentarily grouped as they drive towards their goal,
The scenario which will decide their fate.
The rumbling in the motor stops.
For some it is the undeniable duty,
For others the obligation they are inevitably bound.
The light cleaves through the soldiers’ faces
As the vehicle’s door opens and their moment comes.
Feet splatter mud and grass as they aim for concrete
The soldier marches at ease on friendly ground
Searching for vital weapons before it commences.
Tools which will write their destiny,
Calculate and measure their achievements.
They hear news from different soldiers
Of battles that were, and battles that are to come.
The ringing of bells summons them to battle
And time which was disregarded beforehand,
Freezes as they engage in battle after battle
In the greatest war of all,
The war for wits.

A boy lines up plastic soldiers
In straight rows across his floor.
He knocks them down with callow ease
In a naive game of war.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In between rich, well-known places,
Little boys become those soldiers -
Grow hard lines upon their faces.
Guns weigh down their frail frames,
As they march in groups like drones;
Passing by jumbles of bodies -
Messy piles of flesh and bones.
One cries softly in the corner,
Another cannot bear the sound.
He takes the blunt side of his gun
And beats the other to the ground.
In the streets they pass right over
Mothers murdered, sisters raped,
Countless men whose limbs are broken,
But whose empty eyes still gape.
Narrow roads become red rivers,
Neighbourhoods go up in flames,
Backyards turn into cold graveyards -
Still they play this twisted game.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In the richest, well-known places,
Boys line up their plastic soldiers
With blind smiles upon their faces.

In dead-man's land
red poppies grow,
Fertilised by blood,
sun and winter snow;
And on widows' weeds
streams of sadness flow,
Lost freedoms seeds
beneath ignorance goes
To no-man's land
where,there were but crows;
With Spring's new life
real peace they can know,
In the Morning Star's
perpetual glow!
*Afghanistan

People say that love never fails,
That all is fair in love and war,
But really, how do you know,
What love can or can not do?
And if all is fair in love and war, then
Why does someone always end up getting hurt?
I know my love will never fail,
Because I love you with all my heart and soul,
Because I would give my life for you,
And everything I am or have just to be with you.
However, I can not be fair to all
Because all is not fair in love and war.
I wish to hurt no one, so I don't,
But by doing so, I hurt myself.
My heart wants to be with you so much
And yet I wish to hurt no one.
So I don't, I don't confess my love for you,
I keep it locked inside,
And as a friend I stay by your side.
My love for you remains forever pure and unchanged.
I love you, Yes, I do, with all my heart and soul,
With all that I am and hope to be just for you.
My heart untamed and wild, dreaming of what if,
But it's cut in half by the love I feel for both.
My heart belongs to you but only half,
Because I gave the other half away to him.
Now I suffer for my love, for both are great,
But only one, I wish I could be with forever.
All is not fair in love and war,
So I love you both and suffer much,
Because my heart is wounded, torn in half.
I can not speak of my deep love for you,
I can not confess my feelings to you.
So I go on with my life pretending nothing's wrong.
Why must I go on without your love?
It's faith, I guess, that I suffer so.
It's destiny to love you so.

You may see me out on the streets
Lying curled up in a foetal position my sleeping bag in a shop doorway
Trying to get a few hours sleep here in my latest home in cardboard city …
I never stay more than a few nights in one place
can never really settle; these streets aren’t safe
You may see me out on the streets
I’m sitting on the cold damp pavement with an empty coffee cup in my hand
Hoping for a coin or two so I can have some real food in my aching belly
Still you hurry past, trying to avoid making eye contact…
Believe me, it’s so degrading rummaging in the litterbins like a wild animal
But some days it’s the only way I can get any food to eat
The biting cold and wet weather is my worst enemy
I can never get warm even when the sun shines
This is no life, just a way of surviving another day
Guess you think I’m a waster, a dirty tramp
You walk on by; judge me without knowing what lead me to life on the streets
Bet you think I’m a druggie or an alcoholic
I guess most people seem to think that
They see my filthy clothes, straggly hair and grey beard
Just five years ago I was like many of you
I had a career, a beautiful wife, and two lovely children
Spent many months away from home fighting for my country
But then I got sent to Afghanistan…
I saw scenes no man should ever have to witness
I was traumatised
Forever suffering flashbacks of the faces of those innocent people
The children, oh those children – made me think of my two boys back at home
I couldn’t cope any more, had a total mental breakdown
I was a broken man …
My wife could no longer deal with the mood swings , the erratic behaviour
The Army did little to help –
discharged me on health grounds, then basically abandoned me
Now I’ve lost everything … my wife, family, my dignity
Many of the people you see on the streets are like me …
We all have a story to tell, but no one gives us the time of day
Passers-by avert their eyes and hurry past like we are invisible
Your eyes may tell you one thing… but please don’t judge me
Because you don’t know me
07~21~15

Premiere contest #7 Sponsored by Skat A
Contest Any poem meaningful to you
Sponsored By Broken Wings

A silent prayer, a call for peace
War and winter takes its toll, birds sounds cease
The cold penetrates the soul, the Canada geese arrive
Bitter frost kills, the sound of geese bring winter alive
Peace in the world, the tips of the bulbs begin to show
No matter what is happening, Mother Nature will still grow
Penned 11/01/2015

The pro-Hanoi Vietcong many years ago
In the 1950's Diem's government they'd overthrow
All opposition was crushed killed or jailed
These elected ones to their people they failed
This Buddhist country so religious in belief
Now politically torn apart, impending future grief
In the early 1960's with the CIA in place
Discussing with Vietnam's generals, Diem, assassinated in disgrace
With the Vietcong army, growing from strength to strength
Another communist foothold, going to any lengths
In 1965, with 3500 U.S. Marines in place
By December of that year, 200,000 in many a base
These U.S. Marines, in their defensive mode
Over the coming months, peace would soon erode
With the Tet Offensive upon us, and the "Battle of Hue"
The Americans were now involved, this bloody war now brews
One decision to end this conflict, came in 1969
Nixon sent 18 B-52s, bordering Soviet airspace line
He wanted to show he was capable, to end this bloody war
But as the months and years progressed, the body count would soar
The anti-war movement was gathering strength, also in 1969
But the "Green Beret Affair" started to undermine
A U.S. Army platoon raped and pillaged, the village of My Lai
Where civilians were massacred, and many left to die
In 1970-71, Cambodia incurred wars wrath
Where they and the country Laos, were in the U.S. bombing path
Also in 71, there was the cutting of the Ho Chi Minh trail
But arms and supplies got through, this mission to no avail
Later in the same year, the Anzac's withdrew their soldiers
The U.S. also reduced, many of theirs from Vietnam's borders
In 1973, Nixon declared the suspension of offensive action
The Paris Peace Accords took place, peace with this warring faction
Between the years 73 - 74 under Trà, the Vietcong grew in strength
There was no mass offensive, to lure the Americans to their trench
Gradually they marched to their target, to see their enemies eyes
To their city of Saigon, now over a million humans have died
The average age of the American to die in this bloody war
Was just nineteen years old, never knowing what they were fighting for
So many came home from this horror, leaving themselves behind
Because so many came home different, home with a different mind
Even to this day, many Americans look back and ask
Why their elected Congress, feed them to these tasks
The sad thing about Vietnam, it continues to this present day
Where governments make decisions, asking guns to hear their say

A beautiful heart pines from afar.
To parallel freedom, we choose our master.
In Love, the Dragon and Unicorn are!
Celestial winged heart beats faster,
Over mountain and ocean meet polar eyes.
To parallel freedom, we choose our master.
Embarking from sun brewed and moonshine skies
Two alien races, in war, collide.
Over mountain and ocean meet polar eyes.
All brothers' swords raise, marching with pride.
Sisters of heaven let feathers fly.
Two alien races, in war, collide.
The angered clouds rain blood from the sky.
A new path finally found.
Sisters of heaven let feathers fly.
Brothers' swords low now to the ground.
A beautiful heart pines from afar.
A new path finally found.
In Love, the Dragon and Unicorn are!
In universe
Out bound energy
Where are we when we die?

_______________________________
In silence and in prayer.................
_______________________________
For those who gave everything
and never failed to protect
for those who left loved ones
and tried hard not to look back
for those who made it home
and for those who's spirits flew on...
For you my hat is off in Gratitude
I thank God for people like you..
I remember with thanksgiving
in painful facets from within
each man and women
who fought for this country
until the bitter end..
Come home my proud soldiers
come home once again
come home my mighty soldiers
come home to mend...
In Gratitude I bow...
_______________________________
A Debbie Guzzi Contest

My friends come home draped in flags
I pause at the edge of the airplane door
Facing a tunnel leading me to a muffled joy
Strangers tell me I am related to them...
I deny a woman with three kids... her kiss
My friends are slipping in trucks with flags
They are loaded and back doors explode shut...
..............................................................
I wake up in a trench of blood and clean pillows
The same woman from the airport next to me
Peacefully breathing...and I thought she was dead...
I think I am finally home, fans are not propellers
Camouflage doesn't bear swing sets in backyards
My friends' helmets, guns and boots line up in my head
Patrolling with weapons made of aluminum foil
-------------------------------------------------
There is too much silence for a dead soldier walking...
I think I FEEL the kiss of the woman with three kids ...

Night has come, the fog is slowly wreathing
Crying soft, a form is moving forward
Now she walks through mist, 'tween shadows seething
Past the ancient walls she pushes onward
Mid the shrouded stones she pours her sorrow
Crying soft, a form is moving forward
Now she weeps amid a ruined palace
*Starting when the distant forest trembles
Comfort is not nigh to ease her sorrow
In her hands she bears a broken chalice
She that once was rich is now the poorest
Starting when the distant forest trembles
Deep within the shadows of the forest
Wars were fought that changed her life forever
She that once was rich is now the poorest
How could men her castle cruelly sever?
Night has come, the fog is slowly wreathing
Wars were fought that changed her life forever
Now she walks through mist, 'tween shadows seething
Day is dawning
Light scatters shadows
What hope will morning bring?
- *Starting is a sudden motion or spasm caused by being alarmed. -
- The part of this poem that is in Terzanelle form is also Trochaic Pentameter, meaning that it is ten syllables per line and alternating between a stressed and unstressed syllable the whole way through. -
- First place in contest, "Terzanelle Fantasy with a Questionku Chaser".

They said that it would never come,
This war of hate, and not for some.
A sleepy hamlet, far from all,
But now it’s happened, god helps us all.
It’s not a year since they were wed,
But now he’s gone, she hopes not dead.
They are in love, for his touch she yearns,
A tight embrace, the longing burns.
The closeness only they can share,
You can see the magic in the air.
A knock then comes upon the door,
As her mind’s brought back to this wretched war.
Her heart now breaking, and is hoping no –
She had pleaded with him not to go.
Is that all to this that makes up life?
When all she wanted was to be his wife.

(Out of Eden: Act V)
Have you heard the sound of hooves go….. ‘clickety clickety, clop’?
That is the sound that the Pale Horse makes, when down on Earth to shop.
That Reaper mean, the one called ‘Grim’,
Takes tortured souls with wanton whim.
That rider of the Pale Horse smirks - goes….clickety, clickety, clop…..clickety, clickety, clop.
Have you heard the sound of chests go…… ‘boom-a de boom-a de boom’?
That is the sound that the poor heart makes in throes of gloom and doom.
Horrors unleashed you freeze with fright,
Hormone screaming ‘flee or fight!!!’
The stricken heart pounds deathly beats - goes .’….boom-a de boom-a de boom’….boom-a de boom-a de boom’!
Have you heard the sound of guns go ….rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, tat?
That is the sound that the nozzle made when out, it’s bullets, spat.
To claim a life and rip apart
The victim …and a loved one’s heart.
That nozzle spits out rhythmic hate - goes…rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, tat! …rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, tat!
Have you heard the sound of bells go ..ring-a-ling, ding-a-ling, dong?
That is the sound that the Church bells make to mark a Victory Song.
Men may die, and many shall mourn
But Life itself is not forlorn.
Be brave, take heart…the Church bell peals, ..goes: ring-a-ling, ding-a-ling, dong…ring-a-ling, ding-a-ling, dong!
Have you heard the sound of the Cock; go …kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle, do?
That is the sound that the rooster makes when light, the days, renew.
Days will come, and days will go
And Life goes on the way we know.
So listen. Hark. The cockerel crows - ….it goes: …kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle,do
………..Kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle,do…………Kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle,do
Another Dawn….another Day …….kook-a-doodle, kook-a-doodle,do!

Into your Hideout
The ruins of my mind
The bombed out places so so unkind
Lost you in the haze of hells fire
Bombs making humanity expire
I have dreams they call out as nightmares
You are running away from your fears
Amongst such destruction and horrors
A borrowed bicycle your only escape
Yet here I am, and you know not the truth
I am alive, and running, just as you
Through the ruins of this city so destroyed
I am chasing you, and screaming, stop my love
Stop, arête no more need to run
The enemies and nightmares ran out of guns
That day when the sky rained barrels and bombs
Wounded, I survived, our love kept me alive
In the deepest of dreams, I hear your screams
Love please know soon, we will be in the sun eating ice-cream
I will never stop my endless pursuit
Of finding you my love, my wife, my meaning of this strife
I shall find your hideout in the depths of hells fears
We two shall resuscitate our hearts, humanities fools
For all the terror, the war and hate
One day me and you shall smile at lovers garden gates
My blood is yours, my veins joined to your soul
No soldier shall stop us, from our hopes and loves ultimate goal
When I sit caressing your hair in the shelter of hidden despair
The hideout no longer needed
Us lovers, together, finally in gods sun and the fresh air
Dedicated to all the innocent victims of the horrors in Syria
I would like to thank a fellow poet, for her support, encouragement and exchanging of ideas, Casarah Nance. I was discussing how often music inspires my writing, and was sharing some favorite songs with her, when this idea came up.
At the same time, tonight we had a workshop on www.baffn.biz #Poetry room, and I would like to also thank Tim, Casarah, Jan, Maverick, Halil, Samantha, Armand, Keith and Joe for the wonderful comments and suggestions. Great to see poets encouraging other poets. That’s how it should be!

The greatest holiday gift I ever received
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears
I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin
For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so
Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading
We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy
We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores
On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through
A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee
My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve
This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for
We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me
Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Dalzel-Job

This evening I listen to a Rock 'n' Roll band
Their track is Civil War, as our world now expands
To us it's the same size but to others they despise
For the want of greed exists in their killer hungry eyes
Where do I start, to say of their evil spread
A different starvation leaving the world in evil dread
It's not our today's but our yesterdays years
That our history tells us, of our everlasting torn tears
Cambodia, the Lebannon, and Sri Lanka's Indian sun
Rebels who demand better at the end of a gun
Guaetamala and Peru with their Shining Path
Villagers in terror decrying it's ever last
Democracy is our power in it's controllable exist
Like the Shining above, how long will our future paths persist
Recent news in the Arabic World, has taken tyrants by surprise
For decades they have stolen with their torturing infidel lies
I could go deeper and deeper to describe these evils acts
In wanton blood spillage, to increase civil war torn facts
For this is the world we live in, it appears we determine to live
Maybe in our lifetime it will be on our doorstep, we open, our lives will sieve
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-8.php

Peer pressure of the worst no matter who they are
They can be a boy or girl that they believe to become martyr's
Strapped to these young souls, is something they just don't understand
Yet the cowards who persuade them to miss, becoming a woman or a man
What, where, why or when, does this quest justify it's means
For it arises in the warped depraved, in twisted confused dreams
For in this book that they all crave about, this they cannot do
It's against their religion to request the suicide of you
For all their Cleric's whom they are, they sit and witness so
Not one has ever spoken out, to stop this exploding blow
Why is this I ask myself, for they fear the bullet of a gun
Because it's easier to suppress their young, terrorism has again begun
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-8.php

High on the Normandy cliffs
Looking out over Pointe du Hoc
As cold Atlantic winds whisper out
The names of the brothers I left behind
Now only fine marble monument shadows
Dot the trenches and empty emplacements
As the final testimony of the fallen
Still ringing frightened with those desperate voices
Proclaiming both their lives and death
That they were ever here…
In the emerald hills of Collville Sur Mur
I can still hear the phantom naval shells screaming
Underneath the crying of men
Pulverized and dying in their comrades arms
All for the belief of the land from which they hail
While the roaring waves wash the still bloody sands
In and endless and rending cycle
That silent cacophony of brother and foe
Call out to me still for comfort and aid
Asking only to be remembered…

I'm very small
I am called Standing Tall
My story to be read as i live through it all.
Our Dakota lands are forest and vast
Where our ancestors have hunted
From long in the past.
Our tribes are, a confederation of seven
With our language of Lakota, Sioux heaven
We stand proud as we remember our past
And look to our gods, to make it all last.
A silhouette on the prairie hill i see
This shape in the distance is new to me
As we sleep in the night, we hear guns and blows
We arise from our camp, to look for the noise
We creep on the prairie to their surprise
Under the moon, where the land would flow
No longer the Buffalo.
We mount our ponies to challenge these men
What gives them this right to kill and maim
Bodies of beasts, furs cut away
Missing heads, a ghastly slay.
On reaching their camp our bows stretched
Arrows screech, hit the wretched
Watch them fall to the prarie floor
Just like the Buffalo did hours before.
Years have passed as we are moved from our lands
These poisonous men, and their poisonous glands
Bringing illness fever and strife
Ending many a Lakota life.
We reach a point in History
Which made the white man sit up and see
Their Golden Child General George Custer
And the Little Big Horn, my what a disaster.
Arapaho, Cheyenne and us Lakota too
Sliced the Blue Jackets, their Scouts too
The US Cavalry would have their glee
At the Battle Of Wounded Knee
Where Siiting Bull would finally rest
Standing Tall's story last's the test
If we Indians had the same resources
Like the silhouette on the hill
These praries we always had. would be ours still.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/native-americans.php

It amazes me how much man has evolved
Yet, How little he has learned
All around the globe
Millions die of disease and starvation
While the ever so intelligent creature known as man
Spends millions upon millions of dollars every single day
Killing each other
Instead of finding cures for the ill or feeding starving children
Oh sure, we dabble in those efforts
But we are committed to killing each other
Governments all around the globe
Spend most of their money
On their armies
Either to defend or attack
Their enemies
Supposedly, the most intelligent creature on earth
The intellectual creature known as man
If I may go so far
Mans commitment to war and killing
Goes far beyond any one mans term in office
It goes far beyond any one mans lifetime
It goes far beyond any century or any one era
From beginning to end, top to bottom
East to west, north to south
Red, yellow, brown, black or white
Our commitment to killing each other
Is undeniable
How can a species that is smart enough to split atoms
Creating weapons that will kill millions
Still be stupid enough to do it?
And now I see on the science channel
That man has now devised the Platonic beam
A beam of light that just disintegrates the target in an instant
At what price you ask?
Well I don’t know but I reckon if we diverted that money
To say solar energy projects
They could probably put a solar energy system
On every home in the world for free
Thus solving the energy crisis
Not to mention food in the icebox and medicine in the cabinet
Because of course when you create such an amazing new weapon
You need an entire new type of ship to deploy it from
Thus is born the next generation of war birds
They jettison into space
Then go into super afterburner (A jet engine minus oxygen)
Which they said would reach like 20,000 miles an hour
So you could shoot halfway around the world
Disintegrate your enemy
And be home in time for supper
I believe when speaking of politics
It’s not a National Crisis
It’s a Global Epidemic

Young men shipped out to the far east
Their civil virgin is soon to be lost
Replaced by a fighting beast
In the midst of the battle
The sickening stench of human bloodshed
Fills the air of a once distant paradise
Tortured minds,lost sainty
Terrifying fears
Tuned into surviving modus
Endless cascades of hells` flames
Licks the young soldiers`life thread
Is there an end to all the madness?
Can he ever be a loving man again?
Followed by the shadows of dead comrades
He returns to his family and loved ones
Like any man,he seeks back to his battlefield again
The war devil has got his clammy hand around his throat
Until his dying day,the war will continue
Will he ever reach nirvana again?
He may never experience that moment again,
when inner peace sett the standard of comfort
And the saddest part....someone just made a pail of money out of that war